


something more than dreaming

by rubes



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Nightmares, Sal has a nightmare and Larry makes it okay, The ship is only visible if you tilt your head and squint, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, basically this is super sad at the beginning but it gets better, but it's worth tagging because I know people get all worked up over it, in the nightmare portion, this takes place at a purposefully vague point in time but definitely prior to episode four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubes/pseuds/rubes
Summary: "Somehow, all the feelings I didn't feel when each thing had actually happened to me, I did feel when I slept." - Andrea Dworkin.Before Larry, Sal experienced the aftershocks of his horrible psyche alone, twisted up in bedsheets soaked with sweat, frightened but without comfort. Larry changed that. Larry changed a lot of things.
Relationships: Sal Fisher & Larry Johnson - Relationship, Sal Fisher/Larry Johnson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 138





	something more than dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> this is the product of a quick prompt from my vent mutuals. user .nobody wanted larry to comfort sal after a nightmare. so here we go!
> 
> i listened to "a-awake at night" by half alive while writing this and im pretty sure it only made it gayer

Repression is an extremely unhealthy coping mechanism, and yet so many people do it. It's human nature to want to hide from the things that are difficult to handle, but that didn't make it healthy. (Honestly, there's a lot of things that are human nature that are so ridiculously stupid.) But Sal doesn't repress purely because it's inherent; he represses what he can remember of that picnic gone wrong because the only person he's ever felt safe enough to discuss it with made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with it. 

(Sal tries not to think too hard about his father's feelings on the death of his mother, on the maiming of his son. _That,_ he represses willfully. To carry that guilt around with him actively every single day would ruin him.)

The primary side-effect of attempted repression is ... well, the opposite of repression. Whether in conscious or subconscious ways, the ignored subject matter will find its way back into the thoughts of the person who wishes to remain ignorant. Sal suffers this the most through nightmares.

_The breeze, so light and gentle that day. The sun, warming both of his cheeks as he pushes his mop of hair free from his face. The smell of carefully-packed and well-made lunch, lost on his youthful mind as he bounces from stimuli to stimuli. The patient but tired look upon her face. The rustle of branches, the pounding of shoes upon earth._

_The flash of pain, the agony. So much pain, he can scarcely feel it anymore. The delirium. Nothing made sense. Trying to open an eye that he no longer has. Where is she? Why is her dress that color? He can't move, but he should be able to. His face is hot. His face is wet. Even from the eye he has left, he can barely see. It's all red. Just red. Where is the dog?_

_Mom? Mom--?_

**"Mom!"**

The bed creaks, moaning as Sal bolts upright. Gizmo yowls as an errant foot kicks out and displaces him from his spot at the edge of the mattress, hopping down onto the floor in protest. He's heaving, breathing hard and fast, his hands clutching at his chest like he's going to claw it open.

He doesn't hear Larry at first. Doesn't realize his renegade elbows have been nailing him in the chest, then his gut, as the other boy struggles to work himself upright alongside him. But then there's hands on him, taking him by one shoulder and then both, turning him. Sal's bright blue eye finally hones in on Larry's worried expression, his ears finally tune into, "-- _Sally,_ Sal, what's up? Dude--"

That palm presses into his cheek. His bare cheek. He'd been sleeping without his mask for a while now around Larry. He realizes, as the other boy touches him, that his face is wet on the one side. He sniffles, hiccups. Starts, stops. Larry doesn't let him get that far before he hushes him.

"Hey, don't cry, Sally. Don't do that. You're okay, man, you're alright. Look at me." He cups his face a little more insistently, trying to meet that misty gaze. Those long fingers are tangled in loose blue hair. He briefly abandons that gnarled cheek to tuck those thick strands away, but then it's back, smearing away teartracks with a sympathetic smile. "Look, it's okay. Whatever you were goin' through in that head of yours, you're here. With me."

Sal tries to speak again. It comes out as a whimper. 

"Shhh-- hey, hey..." Larry looks a bit lost, like he isn't quite sure what to do, but he doesn't stop trying. Those lanky arms of his curl around Sal's trim waist and pull him in tight. He squeezes hard enough to force the air from Sal's lungs. "Fuck, dude, that bad?"

All Sal can do is nod. That hand is now around the back of his head, fingers still woven into his hair. His chest quivers as he feels the sobs return, as he clutches weakly to the material of Larry's t-shirt. He feels so fragile, like he could shatter at any moment. But Larry is like apoxy. Larry is the glue that holds him together.

"It's okay, Sally. It's okay. Just-- let it out, alright? I don't even like this band anyway, ruin this shirt for me, give me a reason to finally trash it." 

Sal chokes out a laugh. It's a snort, thick and a little uncomfortable, but it lessens the pressure on his lungs just so. Larry's big nose nuzzles into the top of his head. 

"Heh. Was that funny? You think I could convince my mom of that one? 'Hey, Mom, I know that was a perfectly good shirt, but Sal hacked some gnarly snot onto it, so it's super done now, sorry'."

Another shuddering laugh, almost a giggle. The tension is starting to loosen from his shoulders. Sal reaffirms his grip on Larry's shirt. He can feel some of those silky locks getting tangled up in his grasp, and he hopes he isn't hurting Larry any. 

Larry rocks them gently to some beat Sal can't quite follow, hums some song he doesn't know. Sal feels the weight upon him slowly lessening, and his smaller form sags into Larry's gradually, unable to resist the lure of his sturdy embrace. When Sal's trembling and weeping is reduced to only small wheezes and careful breaths, Larry brings their movements to a stop.

"Hey, man." He guides Sal to look at him, and he does. Larry uses the hem of his shirt, wrapped around one hand, to wipe Sal's face clean, and Sal tries to wriggle away, mumbling, _"Ew, dude, gross--"_ but he's too sluggish to resist. 

"Feeling better, Sally?"

"Sorry."

"Not what I asked, and apology not accepted, 'cause there's nothin' to be sorry about."

"S--" He stops himself from apologizing for apologizing, then continues with only a mild croak to his voice, "Better, yeah."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Sal pauses, considering, then shakes his head once. Maybe repression was unhealthy, and maybe it's why he's in this position in the first place, but he still can't quite bring himself to speak these words into the open just yet. "N-No." Another beat. "Mm, maybe one day." He'd like to tell Larry eventually. Larry, his best friend, so terribly important to him. Larry, who was the least likely to judge him for, essentially, getting his mother killed over wanting to pet a dog he still isn't sure even existed. (Maybe one day, ah, _far_ away.)

"Yeah, Sal, of course. Whenever you want. You know I'm here for ya." Larry smiles at him, pushing back that wild blue hair again, clearing his face. Larry never shied away from the carnage behind the mask. 

"Thanks, dude. For, uh-- getting me, y'know, um, out of that."

"What else would I have done? 'Course, Sally Face." 

He presses a kiss to the crown of his head, partially into his hair and partially into the twisting scars on his forehead. Sal's heart skips a beat, and he tries to find words for a moment, but then Larry's arm is around him and pressing him down into the pillows once more.

"Let's get some more sleep, alright?" That nose presses into his hair again, near his ear. Larry holds him close. "If you can. If you can't, I can get your phone or whatever--"

"Nah, nah, I wanna try," says Sal, as he draws in a long and steadying breath. "I wanna try. What is it, like two?"

"Dunno, didn't check. But it's pitch outside."

"Shit, yeah, let's get-- some more sleep. Sorry."

"What did I say about apologizing, dipshit?" Sal can feel his smile against him. 

He smiles back, up at the ceiling. "If I'm such a dipshit, _obviously_ I just don't remember. I can only hold, like, four thoughts in my head at once."

Larry kicks him. Sal giggles. The world spins on, and the memories still lurk in the shadows, like forgotten ghosts remaining ready to haunt. But the night passes, with Larry acting as the anchor that kept his floating mind in the present.


End file.
